


At the Kitchen Table

by mollynoble



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M, canon typical language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27499186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollynoble/pseuds/mollynoble
Summary: The world begins at a kitchen table. -Joy Harjo
Relationships: Brad Colbert/Ray Person
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	At the Kitchen Table

**Author's Note:**

> No disrespect meant to the real men of 1st Recon. Many thanks to Lake and Jen for the beta, all mistakes are mine.

“Why the hell are you bleeding!?” Ray demanded, abandoning his coffee mug on the kitchen table, crowding in close to Brad as he closed the garage door behind himself. Brad knew the cut on his forehead was accentuated by a sour look, he had hoped Ray would still be in bed and never need to know about this minor fuck up. And he really didn’t need to sound so worried, it really wasn’t that bad. “Jesus titty fucking christ, I can't let you out of my sight for a second can I?” Ray snipped as he turned to grab the first aid kit. For all that they were both very capable they both also managed to get scraped up somehow on a regular basis, which had led Ray to invest in an industrial sized kit ages ago for this exact purpose.

The sigh Brad let out was put upon, as if Ray’s high pitched squawking was a greater bother than the not insignificant laceration that was currently dripping blood down his face onto the collar of his t-shirt. ‘It’s not that bad, head wounds bleed excessively, just give me a band aid.” He reached out his hand to Ray, who had pulled out the kit. “I’m not done with your truck, I need to finish.” 

“If you think I'm letting you off that easy you have serious brain damage.” Ray grabbed Brad by the elbow and sat him forcefully in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “Now sit your ass down and don’t move, you idiot.”

Brad sighed again but sat still where he had been placed, watching while Ray washed his hands. “If you're going to be such a mother hen can you at least hurry it up, I wanted to be done with changing the oil by now,” he bitched, while Ray rummaged through the kit, pulling out gauze and a bottle of iodine.

Ray moved in close, standing right at Brad’s shoulder. “Guess you should have thought of that before getting yourself banged up, hmm?” Ray poured some of the iodine on a gauze pad before taking Brad's chin in hand and tipping his head up to a better angle. ”You better not have damaged my truck with this hard ass head of yours.” 

Ray wiped the blood off the area around the cut, then carefully wiped the cut itself, checking for any debris just as fresh blood welled up. Brad flinched ever so slightly while Ray cleaned the wound, even though Ray’s hands were as gentle as his words were harsh. He tossed the bloody gauze aside onto the table and ripped open a clean one that he then pressed firmly against the cut. 

“Ouch.” Brad’s complaint was in an overdone monotone. 

“Aww it’s gonna be alright, baby. Just sit still and I’ll take good care of you.” Ray’s voice was somewhere between condescending and sultry, an interesting balance he managed disturbingly well. He looked Brad over as he teased , checking to see there wasn't any other damage besides the cut he was holding pressure against. Running his other hand over Brad’s scalp and down his neck. Finding no other injuries, he leaned his weight against Brad’s shoulder and checked the time on the oven clock. “Alright holmes, hang tight for ten, if it hasn’t stopped gushing by then we’ll call in a CASEVAC for you.”

“It’s not gushing now, it’s barely a scratch,” Brad protested. Ray ignored him.

Brad concluded he really wasn’t going to escape the hindrance of help and knew continuing to fight would make Ray fuss even more. He sighed again, more resigned then annoyed, and looped his arm around Ray's hips, pulling his weight more fully against his side. If pressed he would have said it was a practical maneuver, meant to prevent Ray from knocking him from the chair. Ray shifted in his hold, and within a breath, they had settled into a comfortable position to wait. 

There was silence in the kitchen. The special early Sunday morning kind. Where the day had just begun, before the small suburban neighborhood they lived in came to life with the sounds of traffic, lawn mowers and children playing. Most people who knew Ray would have thought silence was impossible for him; they would guess something was wrong if he was quiet for too long. However, he was more than capable of stillness. And considering he hadn't had a chance to finish his first cup of coffee yet he did not have the energy to berate Brad properly. Both men were content to sit in silence together just as much as they enjoyed their back and forth of elaborate insults.

The morning sun was streaming in through the kitchen window, warm and bright.  
Ray’s hand that was not occupied with maintaining pressure on the gauze had come to rest on the back of Brad’s neck. The heat of his body against Brad was always welcome, and was at this moment highlighted by the lack of clothes Ray was wearing. He was, in fact, still in just his boxers. The same pair that Brad had complained about the night before. Ray must have found them, from wherever they had landed when Brad had tossed them over his shoulder last night, before heading to the kitchen to get his coffee. 

Brad was absently running his thumb back and forth on Ray's skin. His head hurt, but only a bit, and for all that this was an unplanned and stupid delay of his plans for the morning, this moment was nice. He was an early riser, but Ray typically slept in long after he had started the day so it wasn't often Brad got to see him like this. Hair flat on one side but sticking up on the other, pillow creases on his cheek, in nothing but his sleep boxers. With this thought Brad’s eyes were once again drawn to the offensive article of clothing. He was unable to allow them to exist for another moment without comment. “I really should burn these.” Brad pulled at the fabric of the boxers, causing them to slip down just a bit. Considering they were a tad too big for Ray’s narrow hips they were already dangerously low and this small shift pushed past suggestive into lewd. “No matter how many times I take them off of you, you keep putting them back on.”

“Oh, hell no! First of all, don’t you dare burn these, they are my favorite. You clearly have no taste and cannot appreciate fine art because these are superb.” Ray was still holding pressure on the gauze but his whole body had lit up in protest, his free hand waving about. 

Brad leaned back ever so slightly in order to be able to look up straight into Ray’s eyes. “They are hideous, Ray. My eyes hurt looking at them. My very soul is offended by their existence. That shade of green does not exist in nature and should never be paired with orange, let alone in a _plaid_.”

”Sacrilegious, Brad. Seriously, man, you must be crazy to think these exquisite undergarments are anything less than perfect.” Brad tuned out Ray’s rant, just watched his face while he continued to elaborate on why Brad was wrong. He suspected a not insignificant part of why Ray not only kept the boxers and continued to wear them was because Brad hated them so much he always ended up removing them from Ray’s body as quickly as possible… which may be the whole point of wearing them in the first place. 

He wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not. Was he being manipulated like Pavlov's dog, learning to associate sex with the most ugly boxers in the history of man? On one hand it always led to Ray laughing while Brad manhandled him into their bed and the boxers getting flung across the room. Which was arguably a good thing, but at what cost? What damage was this doing to Brad’s subconscious? 

Brad was pulled from his ruminations when Ray poked him sharply. “Are you even listening to me, Brad!? Here you sit bleeding, saved only by my indispensable assistance, and not only do you insult my favorite pjs but you’re in la la land, not even paying attention to me!” 

It was at this moment, sitting at the kitchen table, blood staining his t-shirt, in ratty work jeans with a minor head wound that Brad knew it. Looking up at Ray standing there over him, his skin glowing in the morning light, covered in nothing but bad tattoos and ugly boxers that Brad knew with a sudden and deep clarity.

“Ray, I love you.” It just slipped out and as soon as it did Brad wanted to snatch it back, but it was too late. His lips felt numb, his whole body was frozen in place as he stared up at Ray. There was a long pause before the ice maker in the fridge turned on and the sudden sound in the silence made them both startle. 

Ray laughed, shaking his head, a fond and exasperated smile breaking out on his face. “Yeah no shit, Brad, I know. I love you too, dumbass. What the fuck you think we’re doing here?” He didn’t give Brad a chance to respond, not that Brad was able to summon up one, still reeling from his realization and even more thrown that not only was Ray aware but loved him back.

“Okay, let's take a look.” Ray took Brad’s chin in hand again to turn his head, removing the gauze, giving the wound an examination before releasing Brad. “Good enough, looks like you’ll live.” He reached awkwardly to pull the kit closer rather than step away from Brad's grip. Which made Brad realize he was in fact gripping Ray rather than the loose embrace of earlier, his fingers so tight they pressed into Ray’s skin. He deliberately eased his hold but didn’t let go. Ray hmm’d quietly as he applied a bandage to Brad’s forehead. When he finished he just stayed there in Brad’s arms, pressed in close. He didn’t say anything, just rested his hands on either side of Brad's neck.

Brad leaned into him, and rested his forehead against Ray’s side. He noticed he was breathing fast and his shoulders were stiff when Ray rubbed them, shushing him softly. He carefully slowed his breathing like he’d been trained and forced his muscles to relax. 

Ray must have felt the change in him because he leaned back enough to look Brad in the eyes. “Got it bad, huh, bud?” Brad glared and Ray giggled. “Don’t worry, I won't tell the other kids at school you got a crush.” He was grinning like an idiot, but his eyes were soft.

“I do not have a _crush_ , Ray, I am not a prepubescent girl.” His voice was obeying him, at least, since he managed to fill the word crush with the appropriate amount of disdain, but he suspected his face was doing a worse job of projecting that claim.

Ray just laughed again. “Brad, you just confessed your big gay love for me, but it’s all good, 'cause I also love you in a super non nohomo way.”

Brad did his best to pull himself together, giving a small shake of his head. “You never cease to amaze me with the stupid shit that comes out of your mouth, Ray.” 

Ray just grinned wide. “You love my mouth, Brad, don’t try and deny it.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively before smacking a wet kiss on the uninjured side of Brad’s forehead. 

And just like that, it was fine. Ray pulled away to go recover his abandoned coffee mug, complaining as he did that it had gone cold. Brad cleaned up the mess on the table, tossing the bloody gauze and wrappers in the trash. And then he dropped a kiss on Ray's shoulder and returned to the garage to finish changing the oil. If he had a small smile on his face when he rolled back under Ray’s truck, well, that was between him and the undercarriage.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr ](http://mollynoble.tumblr.com/) :)


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